


Prelude: a Liege-man in the Library

by Elspeth Maytree (Geronimo)



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Gen, My First Fanfic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:05:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6683269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geronimo/pseuds/Elspeth%20Maytree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curled up with the Book of Gramarye, Hawkin waits for Merriman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude: a Liege-man in the Library

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short piece set in the thirteenth century, where Hawkin serves as Merriman's most trusted liege-man.
> 
> It is the first fic I have ever written, so I would be very interested to know what you think of it!

Hawkin drowsed in the armchair of the manor library, waiting for his master to return from the future.

He was the only servant his master permitted to enter the library. It had taken him years of faithful service to earn this particular privilege, and another several years before he was trusted well enough to read the books that lined its walls. Hawkin smiled, remembering the awe and pride he felt at being admitted into his master’s great secret: his role in the millennia-long war between the Light and the Dark.

Aside from the secrets it held, the library was not an exciting place. There were no windows, and the only furnishings were the leather armchair, a reading desk and a small stepladder. ‘Harder for the Dark to enter’, his master had said grimly when a teenaged Hawkin had asked why the treasures of the Light were kept in such a Spartan, out-of-the way room.   _If I didn’t know this place was brimming with magic it would be boring_ , Hawkin thought. _Maybe it still is_. Yawning, he padded over to the bookshelves and selected a thick, leather-bound volume to pass the time until his master's return. He settled back into the armchair and began to read.

‘Gramarye’, he murmured to himself in the Old Speech. ‘Learning’. He read, marvelling at the book’s exquisite illustrations and implausible-sounding spells, but Hawkin knew he would never truly learn what the book had to teach. Only the great ones, the men like his master, who had a power as ancient as the hills or the sea, really understood books like this one. Turning the pages, Hawkin grew sleepy again. After all, the library was warm, and the armchair cosy, and Hawkin’s eyes were heavy…

When he awoke, a tall thin man with a shock of white hair was standing above him, glaring.  

‘Hawkin’, said Merriman drily. ‘That is the most powerful book of magic in the possession of the Light, containing all the wisdom of the Old Ones, and you are using it as a pillow’.

Hawkin sat up, rubbing his eyes.

‘It must be good magic, my lord. It’s a very good pillow’. Merriman let out an exasperated sigh, but there was no anger in it. Indeed, Hawkin thought he detected a faint note of amusement. 

‘It’s good to see you again, my man’.

‘How was the nineteenth century, master?’

‘Good. Productive. I brought you back something’. Merriman tossed Hawkin a small package. Removing the wrapping cloth, Hawkin found himself holding the most beautiful piece of clothing he had seen in his life. It was a jacket of sumptuous velvet, grass-coloured, and even under the smoky light of the tallow candles it glowed with a rich golden lustre. He held his present up in delight, examining the craftsmanship and the unfamiliar slender cut.

‘It’s beautiful’, he said. ‘May I?’

‘That was why I bought it for you’.

He stood up and slipped the jacket over his thirteenth century liege-man’s clothes. He twirled, laughing to hide the self-consciousness he felt under Merriman’s appraising gaze.  

‘It suits you’. Hawkin felt himself flush at the compliment, but maintained his composure.

‘Do I detect a hint of admiration in my liege-lord’s voice?’ he asked, dark eyes bright with mischief. 

‘Perhaps’, Merriman said grudgingly. Hawkin grinned. Wrapped up in the struggle against the Dark, his master could be a forbidding, austere man. He had a human side, though, and Hawkin took particular pleasure in bringing it out. He gave an exaggerated bow, and returned to the armchair.

‘But master, it’s the thirteenth century. Where am I going to wear a nineteenth century coat?’

‘Ah’, said Merriman. He knelt beside Hawkin, removing the book from the armchair. His stern face softened, but his eyes remained serious. When the Old One gently placed his hands into Hawkin’s, Hawkin felt a shiver run up his spine. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about’.


End file.
